Hannah's Joy

by Marta Perry

  He nodded, taking his usual seat.

  “I think she’ll be fine if she doesn’t rush to get back on her feet. But you know how Paula is.”

  “D-doesn’t like to s-slow down.” He concentrated on taking easy, relaxed breaths, the way Hannah had showed him.

  Hannah flipped open the notebook. “Have you practiced speaking slowly and stretching the vowel sounds?”

  “Ja. S-sounds funny, though. I-I practiced in th-the barn. N-nobody but the c-cows can hear.”

  “Good idea.” She smiled, some of the tension in her face easing. “The cows aren’t very critical, either.”

  “N-no.” At first it had felt really odd, speaking that way. For sure he wouldn’t want anybody to hear him. But Hannah had said that was only for practice, to retrain his speech muscles.

  “We’re going to practice that again today,” Hannah said, “but there’s something else I’d like to try first.” She frowned a little, glancing down at her notebook and making him wonder what was written there. “You know how you don’t stutter as much when you talk to Jamie?”

  He nodded. “Other k-kids, too. Like m-my nieces and n-nephews.”

  “That’s what I thought. And what about animals, like when you’re driving your horse?”

  “N-no, for sure I d-don’t stutter then.” He smiled at the absurdity of it.

  “Well, then, there are plenty of times when you don’t stutter. What about when you sing?”

  “Sing?” he repeated doubtfully.

  “Yes, like in church or wherever you might sing.”

  He grinned. “I d-don’t go around singing.”

  “Maybe you should,” she said, and smiled back at him.

  He felt the feather-light touch of awareness, the same awareness that had stunned both of them the other night. Just smiling together was dangerous, it seemed.

  If Hannah noticed, she didn’t let on. “Try something for me,” she said. “Put your fingertips here.” She started to reach out to him, but seemed to change her mind. She put her fingers against her own throat.

  He copied her, placing his hand against his neck, and found he was thinking about how it would have felt if she’d touched him there.

  He shook off the thought. “Ja?”

  “Now I want you to breathe out and hum. Just hum a note. It doesn’t have to be a song.”

  He did as she said, feeling foolish. This was another thing he’d have to hide in the barn to practice, he suspected. The hum was a little uncertain.

  “There, do you feel the vibration when you hum? Feel how it stops when you stop humming?”

  He nodded, not sure how this related to his speech.

  “When you speak, if you can take an easy, relaxed breath in, then let out a little air and ease into the word, you’ll find it comes out more smoothly.”

  Hannah demonstrated on herself, putting one hand on her middle and one on her throat. Unfortunately that made him notice how slim her waist was, and how smooth her skin.

  Concentrate, he ordered himself.

  “You see?” she asked.

  “Ja.”

  “Okay, we’ll practice it some more later, but right now I want us to sing something together.”

  Again with the singing. Did she realize that the Amish didn’t listen to popular music? Singing was a big part of worship, but he doubted she knew the songs from the Ausband.

  “There must be something we both know,” she said, obviously following his thoughts. “What about children’s songs? Or old folk songs?”

  “At singings, s-sometimes w-we’d s-sing those. Bishop M-Mose agreed.” Some Amish congregations were stricter than that, but Bishop Mose always said there was no harm in the old songs.

  “Good. What do you know?”

  He shrugged. “‘Row, R-Row Your B-Boat’?”

  “Okay, let’s sing that. Together.” She began singing, her voice mellow and light, and after a moment’s hesitation he joined in.

  They reached the end and sat grinning at each other, as if they’d won a race.

  Hannah seemed to recall herself. “Did you hear what happened when you sang? Not a single stutter.”

  He hadn’t stuttered, had he? He’d never actually realized that. “I c-can’t sing everything.”

  “No, but you can notice how your throat and your mouth feel when you’re singing, and try to do the same, even when you’re not. Let’s try again, something faster. Do you know ‘She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain’?”

  He nodded, somewhat reluctantly. “Some, I g-guess.”

  Hannah began to sing, nudging him when he didn’t start with her. He had to join in, and Hannah was determined. Not content with one verse, she plunged on, and he tried to follow.

  First he mixed up the verses, and then she did. She started to giggle, hardly able to mouth the words, and the song collapsed into laughter.

  And somewhere in the midst of the laughing, he realized it was already too late to guard against feeling anything for her. He already had feelings, and he didn’t know what he was going to do with them.

  * * *

  The session with William had gone better than she’d expected, Hannah told herself as she tidied the bakery that evening. Any embarrassment that might have existed had slipped away in the laughter. Singing with him had been a good idea.

  Aunt Paula had attempted to come downstairs after supper, but Hannah had managed to forestall it. Staying off that ankle as much as possible was the only sensible thing to do.

  Once she’d finished in here, she’d have to start the bread for tomorrow. Little though Aunt Paula would like it, they’d have to get along with fewer varieties of pastries than usual. Hannah was learning, but she hadn’t mastered everything by a long shot.

  Someone knocked at the bakery door, and she looked up, startled. A man stood on the other side of the glass. Didn’t he see the Closed sign?

  She went to the door, shaking her head. “We’re closed.” She said it loudly, reluctant to open the door when she was alone here. And then she realized the man was Isaac Brand, William’s older brother.

  “I must talk with you.” He said the words firmly, his voice coming to her through the closed door. “I know the bakery is not open, but I have something to say to you.”

  That didn’t sound like much of an incentive to open up. She doubted that Isaac had anything helpful to share.

  Maybe she was misjudging him, but she’d formed an opinion when she’d heard him speak to William. He hadn’t just been rude. He had shown contempt, as if he thought William was negligible, not smart enough to have an opinion.

  She’d been the recipient of that contempt herself, as a child going to a city school for the first time, wearing traditional Mennonite clothing, hardly able to understand the other children.

  So she didn’t want to hear what Isaac had to say. But she could hardly walk away and leave him standing there. She unlocked the door, pulling it open and holding it ajar.

  “What is it? The bakery is closed, and I have work to be done.” Maybe he’d deliver his message and be on his way.

  “I must come in.” He glanced over his shoulder. “This is not something to talk about on the street.”

  No, that would have been too much to hope for. She opened the door wider, letting him in and feeling her apprehension deepen with each step.

  Isaac stood for a moment, stocky and determined, staring at her. She could understand a little of how he intimidated William and the rest of his family. The force of his personality seemed to demand that people pay attention to him.

  She looked away from him, moving toward the counter where she’d been working. “How can I help you?”

  Now that he was in, Isaac didn’t seem to know where to start. His gaze wandered around the room, not landing an
ywhere.

  “This is a nice little business of your aunt’s,” he said finally.

  “Yes. It is.” Clearly he hadn’t come to tell her that.

  “I understand she was hurt today.”

  “It’s just a sprain. She’s resting now. It’s amazing how quickly word spreads in the valley.”

  “Ja. Everyone hears, sooner or later.” He faced her then, his gaze hard. “They hear, they talk.”

  He obviously meant something in particular, but she had no idea what. “I suppose that’s natural in a small community.”

  “Some things I do not want to get around and be talked about. Like you meeting my brother behind the fire hall.”

  For an instant she couldn’t breathe. “But . . . I was just talking to him.” Was that all? A voice whispered in the back of her mind. “About when we’d meet to work on his speech.”

  “It does not matter why you were there. People will talk. I don’t want gossip about my family.”

  Hannah felt herself cringing inside and longing to run away from a fight as she always did. But little though she liked confronting people, she couldn’t accept Isaac’s skewed version of events.

  “It was perfectly innocent,” she said, trying to keep her voice cool and firm. “And it was between me and William.”

  Not you, she almost said, but thought better of it.

  “You do not know how things are here.” Isaac looked at her with open dislike. “This business of trying to master his stuttering—my brother doesn’t need your help. We love William as he is, and we’ll take care of him.”

  “Maybe he wants to take care of himself.”

  Isaac’s gaze narrowed. “William will listen to me. Nothing but trouble can come of this. He can only be hurt by spending time alone with an Englisch woman.”

  Isaac’s mouth shut like a trap. He stalked to the door, walked out, and slammed it shut.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Saturday morning was always a little different in the bakery. The early-morning coffee-drinkers were less likely to visit, but more people stopped in while out shopping, or they came by for lunch.

  By midmorning, Hannah was satisfied that all was running smoothly with the help of Naomi and Rhoda. But Jamie wasn’t used to being left alone with his toys for so long, and he began to fuss. Hannah’s thoughts bounced from Aunt Paula, alone upstairs, to Jamie.

  She touched Naomi’s arm as she wrapped bread for the sole person waiting. “I’m going to take Jamie upstairs for a few minutes and check on my aunt. Will you be all right without me?”

  “Ja, for sure.” Naomi’s face showed her concern. “How is Paula?”

  Hannah paused, not sure how to answer. “Her ankle looks better. Very bruised, of course. But she seemed so down this morning, and I’m not sure why.”

  “Maybe the accident upset her, like you said yesterday,” Naomi suggested. “Paula is always so strong. Getting hurt might have reminded her that none of us can go on forever. Life changes when we least expect it, ain’t so?”

  It was an unexpected insight, and it unsettled Hannah.

  “You’re a wise woman, Naomi,” she murmured.

  Naomi shook her head, smiling, and turned to the customer.

  “Mama, Mama!” Jamie shouted, loud enough to turn everyone’s head.

  Rhoda started toward him, saying something soothing.

  “Thanks, Rhoda, I’ll take him. I’m going upstairs for a bit. I think he needs a snack and a change of scenery, don’t you, little boy?”

  Hannah lifted him, and his pout turned quickly to giggles. “Mama,” he said again. “Up.”

  “For a man of few words, you make your wishes known, don’t you?” She snuggled him, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Let’s go see Aunt Paula.”

  She headed upstairs, carrying him on her hip, and he clung to her like a little monkey.

  Naomi had a good point, she suspected. Aunt Paula had done everything on her own for years, but what did she see now when she looked to the future?

  Well, Hannah knew that, didn’t she? Aunt Paula had offered her a partnership, a share in the business that would assure the future for Hannah and for Jamie.

  Hannah still hadn’t given her an answer, although she felt as if she’d thought of little else. Accepting would calm all her worries and would ensure security for Jamie—the most important thing in the world to her.

  And she was tempted for other reasons, as well. This short experience of actually running the bakery on her own had been a pleasure, in spite of her worries about her aunt. She’d liked dealing with customers, working with Naomi and Rhoda, even making the decisions about what baked goods she could offer. She’d found herself thinking about what she might do if she really were in charge.

  She could be, thanks to Aunt Paula’s offer. But could it cost her child in the future? She’d be committing to live her life here in Pleasant Valley. Was that the life Travis would have wanted for his son?

  She pinned a smile to her face as she reached the living room, and found her aunt cautiously trying to put her weight on her foot.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Hannah fastened the gate at the top of the stairs and went toward her. “You don’t want to set yourself back by doing too much too soon.”

  “I’ll certain-sure drive myself crazy if I sit around up here.” Aunt Paula sounded fretful, but then she looked at Jamie and smiled. “Ach, I’m sure a complainer. Komm, Jamie.” She sat down and patted her lap. “Let me see you.”

  Hannah set Jamie on his feet, and he went across the floor in his usual rush, flinging himself at Paula’s knees. “Watch your foot,” Hannah exclaimed, afraid he’d land right on it, but her aunt had already picked him up.

  “He’s all right.” Paula bounced him a little, smiling. “He wants to play peek-a-boo, I think.”

  Jamie, understanding, clapped both hands over his eyes, making them laugh.

  “Why don’t you leave him up here with me? We’ll have fun together.”

  Hannah hesitated. “But if you had to get up . . .”

  “I was thinking about that. There’s an old cane up in the attic that my daad used. If you’d get that for me, I think I could get around pretty well. It’s right on top of the chest of drawers by the window.”

  “I’ll get it if you promise not to do too much,” she said.

  “Ach, ja, I promise. Go on with you.”

  As Hannah started up the attic stairs, she heard her aunt singing something to Jamie in Pennsylvania Dutch, and the sound followed her, stirring memories. Had someone sung that song to her a long time ago?

  Some daylight filtered into the attic from the windows at either end of the building, but the contents were shrouded in shadow. She pulled the tangling chain of the overhead bulb, flooding the attic with light.

  Hannah turned slowly, looking for the chest of drawers her aunt had mentioned. There it was, and she could see a long object swathed in plastic on top of it. She crossed the rough wooden planks to the chest and unwrapped the cane. It was a sturdy one with a smooth, rounded handle, just the thing for Aunt Paula.

  Hannah left the plastic on the chest to use when she put the cane away again. It didn’t surprise her that the cane had been carefully wrapped. Aunt Paula’s attic was as neat as the rest of her domain. Most things seemed to be stored in plastic bins or cardboard boxes, all carefully labeled. At a guess, Paula would know where to lay her hand on anything up here.

  Smiling a little, Hannah started back toward the stairs. And then she stopped, feeling as if she’d taken a blow that left her breathless. Several boxes, stacked atop a trunk, were neatly labeled in Aunt Paula’s printing. Elizabeth’s things.

  Hannah let a breath out slowly. Drawn to the label by an urge she didn’t quite understand, she went closer, putting out a hand to touch the
topmost box. She ran her fingertips over the lettering. Elizabeth’s things.

  The things Elizabeth had left behind, in other words. The remnants of their life here, not just left behind, but unwanted.

  Hannah reached toward the flap of the box, secured by tape. It would be easy enough to pull the tape off and see what was inside.

  She snatched her hand back, her stomach churning. She didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to know what was inside, didn’t want to be reminded. She spun, yanked the light chain, and hurried down the stairs.

  By the time she reached the living room, she’d managed to regain her composure. “Here it is; it was right where you said.” She held the cane out to her aunt, and Jamie made a grab for it. “Not for you,” she said.

  Jamie stuck out his lower lip for an instant. When that didn’t get any result, he trotted over to the toy basket and pulled out a stuffed bear, carrying it back to Aunt Paula.

  “Bear story,” he announced, shoving the bear onto her apron.

  “You are the smartest boy.” Her aunt lifted him to her lap. “Ja, I will tell you the bear story. Once upon a time . . .”

  The telephone rang, and Hannah went to answer it, the story of the three bears unwinding behind her. Jamie’s favorite, especially with the voices Aunt Paula gave to the bears.

  “Hello?”

  “Is that Hannah?” A male voice, brusque. It took her a moment to pin it down.

  And then she knew. Robert Conroy, Travis’s father. How could she forget his voice? She just hadn’t expected a call from him.

  “Yes, it’s Hannah. It’s nice to hear from you, Robert. Is anything wrong?” She glanced at Aunt Paula and saw from her expression that she understood who the caller was.

  “I’m fine.” The curt voice reminded her of what Travis had said about his father—that he was better at giving orders than relating to people. “Did you get the photo I sent?”

  Her throat tightened. “Yes, I did. That was kind of you. I did write you a note, thanking you, but you probably haven’t received it yet. I put some recent pictures of Jamie in the envelope, too.”

  “Good. Is the boy okay?”